Representing Black
by Cordelia Blythe
Summary: Sirius reflects on the color Black.


Representing Black

Sirius Black wanted nothing to do with the color black. Hell, was it even a color? Colors are bright… merry; like scarlet, which God knows, causes momentary blindness… or like electric blue – again, ouch…or like mustard yellow – um, ew…

No. Black was a shadow… it was anti-color. It was another word for depression. It was the opposite of the angelic white.

And there it was – Sirius didn't have a problem with black. No, he didn't have the slightest bit of trouble with black per se.

He had a problem with the connotation that tagged the color – darkness, depression, funerals, evil…his bloody family…Voldemort. But then again, Sirius realizes that as much as he resents black, he also represents it.

He was black.

Black was him.

This wasn't just about his despicable last name either.

It was his hair. His very black, straight, long hair. The hair that, unknown to even Sirius, made the girls swoon and fawn. The hair that the said girls secretly agreed was " shampoo commercial worthy." It fell almost elegantly over his eyes. Manly elegant, of course, Sirius would insist, while James Potter would grin slyly at him. The point, though, is that it was a definite black.

It was his muggle leather jacket. His very shiny and very black leather jacket that he once bought at a muggle store in London. He bought it when he was fifteen, and he has worn it every chance he has gotten to annoy the hell out of his pureblood, muggle-hating family.

Pairing that jacket with the torn blue jeans – a gift from James, who (bless him), knew exactly what made Sirius happy – and wearing the combo at dinner on the first day of summer in the household of the ancient Pureblood family made the Blacks seethe with anger.

Sirius loved the look of anger on his witch of a mother's face. He loved the look of hatred on the faces of his father and brother. Sometimes, if he was lucky, his cousins Bellatrix and Narcissa would be present and he got the pleasure of ticking them off, too. His ambition in life was to get his family so angry that maybe someday they would disown him.

And if that wish would come true with the help of muggle clothing, then so be it.

It's not like he even had to go back to the Black household every summer. James and his parents would be more than happy to have him stay with them the entire time. Those omelets Mrs. Potter made were a little too tempting. But alas! The opportunity of annoying his family was too attractive to pass up.

He also liked wearing the jacket at Hogwarts. When he walked down the hallways in his cool clothing there'd be a lot of staring and whispering. There was the positive reaction from most of the females. And there was the very very negative reaction from the Slytherins, who would glare and snicker.

But Sirius loved it. Not the attention – that he could have gotten any old day. No. It was the idea of going against the wizarding standards that drew his attention.

"Mr. Black," Professor McGonagall would say severely. "Where are your school robes?"

And Sirius would say cockily, "In my dorm, Professor."

"I better see you wearing them tomorrow, Mr. Black, or there will be some serious consequences."

But again, the main focus here is that Sirius' rebellious muggle leather jacket was black.

It was most importantly, his motorcycle. The flying motorcycle. The black, shiny, flying motorcycle. After exchanging the entire stash of wizarding birthday money he'd ever received from his family (the Blacks didn't believe in giving actual gifts – they just handed you a bundle of cash), he had taken a trip to the brilliant motorcycle dealership in London where he'd seen the vehicle of his dreams.

The man at the dealership had eyed him wearily when Sirius had pulled out the muggle cash.

"You wanna pay with all cash?" the man had asked a little suspiciously.

"Is that a problem?" Sirius had asked rather crossly, and the man had quickly smiled and said –

"No, no, of course not!"

A couple of formalities, and the bike was all his.

But of course, the bike didn't fly. Sirius couldn't, for the life of him, understand how those muggles could stay on the ground all the time.

So, he charmed the motorcycle. He charmed it to fly. He rode it everyday, especially at night when it felt the best.

Black leather seats, black handle bars, and black tires…it was his second best friend. James was his first, of course. In fact, if you asked Sirius he would say that the motorcycle wasn't an "it." Nope, it was a "she." "Baby," he named her, even as James told him how weird that was.

But there it was – the motorcycle was a midnight black.

Hair, jacket, motorcycle – very Sirius… and very black.

Sirius Black wanted nothing to do with black – and yet, he wanted everything to do with it.


End file.
